


Untouchable

by ReaderJane



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: Angst, F/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaderJane/pseuds/ReaderJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe's mother and grandmother witness Mama Macaroni's burial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> song: "My Skin" by Natalie Merchant  
> spoilers through Eleven On Top  
> disclaimer: Not mine. Not for profit.

Angie retrieved her mother-in-law's sweater out of the trunk while the old woman climbed from the passenger seat. The September afternoon had grown chilly. Behind them on the gravel drive, Florence and Marian drew their rosaries from their pockets.

The Morelli monument stood at the far side of Holy Ascension cemetery, away from the newer graves and most of the traffic. A burial was taking place near the cemetery gate. Only a little sound carried across the grass. It would not disturb the Morelli crows as they said Friday prayers for their men's souls.

Bella crossed herself and led off with the creed. Angie glanced down at her crucifix, its beads swinging in the autumn wind. When had the skin around her knuckles grown so wrinkled? Blue veins stood out on the backs of her hands, not so different from Bella's twisted claws.

 _Take a look at my body, look at my hands.  
There's so much here that I don't understand.  
Your face-saving promises, whispered like prayers --  
I don't need them._

The day she met Anthony Morelli, Angie's hands had been as virginal as those of the marble angel above her. Slender, poised, the statue stood atop the monument as if nothing could disturb its serenity. Anthony had called her his angel. Stay away from those Morelli boys, Angie's mother had warned. They only want one thing. But Anthony had breathed sweet promises and Angie trusted him. She believed him when he said she couldn't get pregnant the first time.

When she could no longer hide her nausea Angie confessed. Her mother cried. Her father wouldn't look at her. She'd been afraid Anthony would abandon her but he smiled and took her face between his hands. They'd raise a family, he said, him and his angel. Anthony was different from the other Morellis. After a hurried wedding in a borrowed dress, Angie set up housekeeping.

She fingered the large bead next to the crucifix. Agony in the garden, the first sorrowful mystery. Florence's and Marian's voices murmured beside her, their prayers as regular as breathing.

Anthony had been so sweet to her while she was carrying little Tony. So sure his firstborn would be a boy, named for him. Sundays at the Morellis', he stayed right beside her every minute they were in his father's house. Angie thought it was silly until Anthony's sister Rose told her why. Never be alone with my father, Rose said. Never trust him for a minute.

Anthony's sweetness disappeared after the baby was born. Angie stopped seeing her friends. It was easier to be with her sisters in law, where everyone knew not to mention the bruises.

 _'Cause I've been treated so wrong,  
I've been treated so long,  
as if I'm becoming untouchable._

The priest across the cemetery intoned a prayer, his voice a counterpoint to the widows' rosaries. Angie was surprised to see so many people attending Mrs. Macaroni's funeral. That old woman had tyrannized her family for years.

Bella told Angie, don't let Anthony get away with nothing. He comes home smelling like perfume, saying trust me, you tell him you won't stand for it. But what could Angie do? With a baby in diapers and another on the way, she had nowhere else to go. She struggled to put meals on the table as cheaply as she could. There was never enough money to pay the bills, but there was always enough for Anthony to go out with his brothers.

 _Well, contempt loves the silence, it thrives in the dark;  
the fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart.  
They say that promises sweeten the blow  
but I don't need them  
no, I don't need them._

Anthony promised her at Cathy's christening that he would stop drinking. He'd come right home from the factory, fix the leaky roof. But the baby's cries woke little Tony. Anthony couldn't stand the noise, he yelled. He stormed out to get some peace.

The marble angel gazed impassively over the four women as they recited the Hail Mary. Angie's beads slid through her fingers. The second sorrowful mystery. She shifted her feet on the cold grass.

 _I've been treated so wrong,  
I've been treated so long  
as if I'm becoming untouchable.  
I'm a slow dying flower in the frost killing hour,  
sweet turning sour and untouchable._

Angie was buying bread at People's when her best friend stopped her. Mary Catherine was home from college. Why don't we get together for coffee, Mary Catherine said. We never see each other anymore. Angie said she couldn't get a babysitter.

That night Anthony told her he'd been promoted. They opened a bottle of wine, laughed over dinner. When the children were asleep they sat on the back step together. My angel, Anthony said, and kissed her in the cooling dark. Everything will be better now. Trust me. All it took was a little good fortune, Angie thought. Her husband was different from the other Morelli men.

 _Oh, I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness.  
Oh I need this.  
Need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel, sweet love of my life.  
Oh, I need this._

The next evening Anthony celebrated with his friends. His brother Marco had to help him from the car. Angie left Anthony sleeping on the couch. In the morning she took the children to the park so they wouldn't aggravate his hangover.

A woman's sobs disturbed the hush of the cemetery. Angie couldn't imagine who would be crying for Mama Macaroni. The family was all present, dressed in respectful black, but surely they must be relieved she was gone. Maybe it was the gruesome way Mama Mac died that had one of her daughters so distraught. Angie turned her mind to the third sorrowful mystery, the crowning with thorns.

Michael Anthony and James Anthony had followed baby Cathy in quick succession. Angie protested, did all the boys have to be named Anthony? Her husband was adamant. You want them to be like their father, don't you?

He didn't care what she named the girls.

And then the old man died. Giuliano Morelli, scourge of the Burg and the terror of his family, succumbed to liver failure at last. Anthony amazed Angie by staying sober at the wake while his brothers drank themselves unconscious. Everything will be better now, he promised. They buried Giuliano under the largest stone the engravers could provide. Anthony said, the angel will keep him in the ground where he belongs.

That night Anthony helped her put the children to bed. They made love on the couch, laughing and shushing each other, trying to stay off the squeaky spring. When little Joseph Anthony was born Angie knew he came from that night, from the hope and the joy and the tenderness.

 _Do you remember the way that you touched me before,  
all the trembling sweetness I loved and adored?  
Your face-saving promises, whispered like prayers,  
I don't need them._

The day Angie brought Joey home from the hospital Anthony told her he'd lost his job. Factory layoffs. Shamefaced, he admitted he'd taken out a second mortgage to pay for his father's monument. Angie was relieved when the phone company disconnected them. At least she didn't have to talk to bill collectors anymore.

From the first it was clear Joey would be a charmer like his father. His big brown eyes could always persuade Angie to give him that extra cookie, let him stay up later than his brothers had been allowed. She knew she was spoiling him but she couldn't help herself. Joey was clever and quick and so very sweet. When Angie cried he would wrap his little arms around her leg and squeeze with all his strength. Angie thought, this one will be different. Joseph won't be like his father and his uncles.

Another large bead on the rosary and it was the fourth sorrowful mystery; carrying the cross. So many times the four widows had said these prayers. Judging by the yellow cast to Michael's skin, there would be five soon. Angie would no longer be the youngest when her daughter-in-law Elaine joined the crows.

But not Joseph's girl. Stephanie had already made it plain to the Burg that she was no pliant wife to cast down her eyes while her husband ran around. Bella didn't like the idea of her favorite grandson marrying a divorced woman, but Angie thought Stephanie would be good for Joseph. Stephanie Morelli would be an avenging angel. She would keep Joseph in line if he tried to stray. Angie's last-born was different from the rest of the Morelli men and his woman was different too. If only the two of them would actually get married.

 _I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness.  
Oh, I need this.  
I need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel, sweet love of my life.  
Oh, I need this._

After a long day taking care of the children, Angie was too tired to care whether Anthony smelled like another woman's perfume or not. He rolled off of her and fell asleep, snoring.

Three weeks later the first blisters appeared. Angie moved her things into her daughters' room. His bed empty, Anthony stopped bothering to come home nights.

 _Well, is it dark enough, can you see me, do you want me, can you reach me?  
Oh I'm leaving._

Angie's feet were starting to ache. She touched the last large bead, the fifth sorrowful mystery. Almost done. She wondered for the thousandth time how it was possible to miss Anthony so badly. How she could feel so much love for a man she couldn't trust.

"Jezebel," Bella hissed. Angie turned her head, confused, to look at her mother-in-law. The old woman was glaring across the cemetery, her fingers clenched around her beads.

Angie followed Bella's gaze to the group of mourners around Mrs. Macaroni's grave. Standing at the edge of the crowd was Stephanie Plum. Angie recognized her profile and her wild, curly hair. The girl was plastered against a dark-skinned man wearing sunglasses. He held his jacket wrapped around both of them.

Bella began to mutter in Italian. Florence and Marian faltered in the midst of Hail Holy Queen.

The man tilted Stephanie's face up and wiped his thumbs across her cheeks. He brushed a kiss on her forehead. Stephanie drew back, looking up into his eyes.

Angie's heart squeezed painfully in her chest. There it was. Trust. Every line in the girl's body shouted it. Stephanie leaned into the man, clearly not caring who saw them or what anyone thought.

 _"Puttana, infedele, non rispetta donnacia,"_ * Bella extended a bony finger in Stephanie's direction.

"Stop."

Bella ignored Angie, spitting in her anger. _"Maggio i vostri seni cadono da e la vostra caduta dei capelli fuori."_

"Mother, stop." Angie grabbed Bella's shoulder and swung her around. The old woman's eyes went wide. She stared, affronted, at her daughter-in-law.

"She's making a fool out of our Joseph," Bella accused. "Playing the harlot with that _spico_."

"Let her go, Mother," Angie ordered. "I don't want her here with us."

Bella's forehead wrinkled, her eyes uncomprehending.

Angie repeated, "I don't want Stephanie Plum here with the crows." She wrapped her left hand firmly around Bella's arm and turned back to the marble angel. Cutting short the end of the Rosary, Angie crossed herself. Then she dragged her mother-in-law toward the waiting car.

 _You better shut your mouth and hold your breath,  
you kiss me now, you catch your death.  
Oh I mean this.  
Oh I mean this._

Bella, clearly bewildered by Angie's behavior, allowed herself to be buckled into the passenger seat. Florence and Marian finished a ragged prayer and walked toward the other car. They cast glances at Angie over their shoulders.

Angie paused with her hand on the driver's door handle. The funeral crowd was breaking up. She could see no sign of Stephanie and her companion. The statue on the monument looked blankly over the graves.

"No more, old man," Angie said to the heavy stone. "This time it will be different. That angel is going to fly away."

**Author's Note:**

>  _* Whore, unfaithful, disrespectful hussy.  
>  May your breasts fall off and your hair fall out._  
> I know no Italian. Bella’s curses were translated with Babelfish, and may be laughably wrong.


End file.
